For the 22nd year in a row, the dock at the Nordland General Store on Marrowstone Island was thronged by hearty souls, and slightly less hearty spectators, for the New Year’s Day Polar Bear Dip.

Sue Rose, wife of store owner Tom Rose, explained that her husband and his cousins had been “polar bear swimmers” in their younger years at Seattle’s Alki Beach, so when the couple moved to Marrowstone, they started the Polar Bear Dip as a public event in 1995.

“It’s easier with the dock,” Sue Rose said. “You can just climb back up the ladders. Wading back to shore is so cold.”

Although the first year was hardly a big production, it drew more than 30 divers, “more than we expected.” By New Year’s Day 2000, it had grown to 200 divers.

“We usually get between 75 to 100 swimmers each year, plus however many folks want to watch,” Rose said. “Last year, our 3-year-old granddaughter did it, and we’ve had folks as old as 89 do it. There’s no age limit required, just a bit of a masochistic streak,” she said, laughing.

Becky Rose, Sue and Tom’s daughter, had taken a 15-year intermission from polar bear diving, insisting it was “too cold,” before she hooked up with her current beau, Zach Devos, who has come all the way from Portland, Oregon, for two years in a row to dive off the dock at the Roses’ store.

“It’s just refreshing,” Devos said. “I’ve done it before in other places, but I just feel like I’m at home here.”

Devos recommended a few belts of “liquid encouragement” for first-time polar bear divers, and warned, “Don’t think about it, don’t hesitate, just do it.” Theo Asimakopoulos of Edmonds advised an entirely different approach.

“This is my first polar bear dip here, but I’ve been doing it elsewhere for 15 years,” said Asimakopoulos, who happened to be visiting relatives in Port Townsend. “The trick is, you don’t want to stay too warm beforehand. I drove down here with all my windows rolled down, wearing just a T-shirt and some loose warm-ups.”

Asimakopoulos’ commitment to planning includes bringing someone along to throw a towel over him as soon as he exits the water.

“It’s mayhem, so you have to stay focused,” Asimakopoulos said. “I used to run marathons, and to me, this is the same level of adrenaline and challenging yourself.”

Port Townsend’s Lizzy Krajewski has been diving off the Nordland dock for five of the 12 years she’s been alive. An avid swimmer regardless of the water temperature, she, together with her family, had come out to the store to watch other folks take the plunge before she insisted on following suit.

“I always bring extra clothes, plus a towel, a blanket and warm drinks,” Krajewski said. “If you jump into the really deep end, it can get so cold that you literally can’t breathe. It’s fun to do this with my friends, but most of my friends are wimps.”

Bryan Potter of Chimacum chose Nordland as the site for his first polar bear dip anywhere. As of New Year’s Day, he was 33 days clean and sober, and he and a few friends also in recovery wanted to celebrate in a healthy, bracing way.

“I did 100 push-ups before I came out here,” Potter said, before joking, “plus, I did some shots 33 days ago to warm up.”

Recent German emigrant Robert Scheibl had no intention of braving the cold himself, but he used his advanced thermometer to take the air and water temperatures, and reassured divers that the water (43.3 degrees) was warmer than the air (39.5 degrees), “so it should warm you up when you go in.”

A trio of young women led by Port Townsend’s Lindsey Hoffman found little comfort in those numbers when they suddenly stripped down and dove off the dock nude.

“We never plan something like this,” Hoffman said, as she and her friends shivered and toweled themselves dry in the open air after their dip. “I don’t do polar bear swimming with my clothes on.”

By contrast, fellow Port Townsend resident Heather McRae-Woolf stepped off the dock wearing an immaculate white pantsuit.

“I did it because this was the year of the pantsuit, and I wanted to wash off the politics of this year,” she said.

Monty McCoy grew up on Marrowstone Island, and after spending 40 years away working in Federal Way, he’s been pleased to see what’s happened there in his absence.

“I came to the general store every day after school to buy a pop, and I swam off my grandpa’s dock, but there were no sailboats or water-skiers here,” McCoy said. “Back in my day, there was nothing out here, but now, you have this and the Christmas tree lighting, that drew however many people. It’s become an amazingly supportive community.”